


We Ain't Ashes

by clare009



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:24:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2858927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clare009/pseuds/clare009
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two weeks after Beth was killed, Carol's having nightmares. Written for Greenowl99 and the Caryl Secret Santa exchange on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Ain't Ashes

"Just look at the flowers." 

Carol's hand shakes as she raises her gun. There's a hole inside her so deep it threatens to engulf her. She has to be strong, she reminds herself, even though she doesn't know what that means anymore. 

The girl who is facing away from her lowers her head. She's just a child for Christ's sake, how can she even contemplate this let alone stand there with her finger trembling on the trigger. 

"Just look at the flowers."

Her voice is foreign to her. Alien. It sounds like it's coming from somewhere far beneath her. She wants to squeeze her eyes shut as she takes aim but she can't. Somehow, the gun fires. It happens all at once, and yet she can see and smell and taste everything in fine detail. The kickback of the gun jars her shoulder, and she smells the sulfur a fraction before the back of the girl's head crumples under the force of the bullet. Blood and bone spray into the air around her head like a corona, and then the small body collapses onto the patch of yellow flowers beneath her. 

Carol screams something raw. She's standing next to the body now, and her vision blurs as she kneels down and reaches. She rolls the body over. Blue eyes blink and the girl's pale mouth, splattered with blood, curves into a smile. 

"Beth… no…"

Something shakes her. It's a hand on her shoulder--the warm contact feels more real than anything else, and it becomes apparent that she's been dreaming. 

She blinks. The images fade from her mind, becoming fuzzy and hard to hold on to the more cognizant she becomes of her surroundings. It's dark. The middle of the night. She's lying in a bed in the farmhouse they've taken over since leaving Grady. Beth is buried not far away, in a grave that was dug overlooking a field. 

Carol chokes as she recalls. 

"Hey, hey, take it easy." It's Daryl who has a hand on her shoulder. "It was a dream, that's all."

She shakes her head as she struggles to sit up. The dream is gone but the reality remains. 

"Christ, you're shaking," he says as he drags the blanket from the bed up over her shoulders. He wraps it around her as if she's made of glass, then, with a small huff, he sits down next to her, leaving enough space between them so as not to overwhelm her. "Wanna talk about it?"

Carol doesn't look at him. The room is dark, but the moon is full and shines through the window with enough light that her eyes, once adjusted, can pick out the shapes of various objects in the room, such as the large dresser, filled with clothes and personal items that in another life belonged to someone. Now it only serves to gather dust. 

She wrings her hands for a moment as she gathers herself. She's afraid that if she opens her mouth, she'll tell him absolutely everything, but she doesn't want to do that. It's more than the promise she gave Tyreese. She wants to forget, and talking about it will only rip open the wound that has barely had a chance to heal. 

But, the dream is still fresh, and perhaps it's the quiet of the night or the full moon, or even Daryl himself--but the atmosphere is begging for secrets to be spilled. 

"How did you…?" Her words come out like a croak, and she can't wrangle her thoughts enough to form a coherent question, but it doesn't matter, because he seems to understand what she's asking, anyway.

"Was coming in from watch. Wanted to check on you before I went to sleep. That's when I heard you."

"What did you hear?"

"Nothing. You sounded like you were in pain is all. As soon as I saw you I knew you were dreaming."

She rubs her shoulder. The bruises are healing, and she still feels a twinge in her side--cracked ribs are a bitch, but nothing she hasn't dealt with before. "Ever since the hospital, it's the same dream."

"Yeah, I know." He clears his throat before he continues. "I usually sit until it passes. DIdn't mean to wake you this time, but…"

"It's okay." She angles herself towards him. "I… Thank you."

"That book I'm reading, it says it can help if you talk about it with someone you trust."

She nods. She trusts Daryl. It's more than just a 'they've got each other's back' thing. They have this history, and even though they went through it separately, it still feels like something they share. He's let snippets of his past trauma slip to her, and even more now in the last two weeks since they buried Maggie's sister, and she's shown him that part of her life that was dominated by Ed Peletier, but this other thing is in a whole different league. Still so raw, so new… and it's changed her, just like Sophia changed her, but she doesn't yet know how. 

Carol opens her mouth, and into the silence, she says, "I killed Lizzie." The words hang there, small and alone. 

"Why?"

She tells him. The story is not a long one, but it takes her forever to put the phrases together that explain the sequence of events. She relives it all as if it was happening again. 

By the end, she is sobbing. She gives in to the raw, ugly tears and choked cries that make her chest heave. Daryl tries to pull her in, and she fights him. She's stronger than she looks, but he knows instinctively what she needs as he lets her hit his chest. It's anger that she's letting out. She's so damn mad at the world, at God, for putting her in the position where she had to shoot a child, where she had to lose not one, but four girls, each of them her own in some way. 

"Why? Why does he keep giving them to me only to take them away?" She finds herself spitting the words. 

Daryl mutely shakes his head. He doesn't understand either. 

The moonlight shines on his face, and she sees the tracks his own tears have made. 

Carol crumples under the weight of her losses, and he pulls her in close. All she can do is cling to him. 

It feels like a long time before she's in control of herself again. She detaches herself from Daryl, immediately missing his warmth. 

"I'm sorry," she says. "You should probably get some sleep."

He reaches for her hand, holds it briefly, then lets go. As he stands, Carol gives in to an impulse and grabs his hand again. "What?" he says.

"Sleep here." 

He looks at the bed. It's probably more comfortable than the couch he's had downstairs for the last fortnight, but it's only a twin, not much space for two. She can feel his hesitation, but she admits to herself that she's afraid to go to sleep alone, and maybe if he's there, then it won't be so bad. 

"Please?"

He nods. "I'll try."

It feels a little awkward when she lays back down and stretches out, scooting over to give him room while he watches her. He pulls off his boots, stuffs his socks inside them and sets them at the foot of the bed. She knows he's not comfortable with this level of proximity, but it's a testament to how much he cares about her that he stretches out alongside her and pulls the blankets over the both of them. 

He's warm, and Carol can tell how tense he is. In the narrow bed, there's not an inch of space between them. She hopes he'll relax enough to sleep. Her own heart is hammering in her chest for some reason. 

"Thank you," she says in a whisper. 

His response is barely more than a grunt. She takes it as a 'good night' from him, and shifts onto her side, facing away, to get comfortable. 

Carol closes her eyes, and her mind is blissfully blank. All she can focus on is the solid presence at her back, warm and real. He's like her damn guardian angel. Except Daryl's no angel. Her lips curl into a smile. 

Time passes slowly as she lies there. She measures it against the beats of her heart. She is forced to come to the conclusion that despite her clear head, she's still not getting any sleep. She wasn't counting on the acute awareness of every sound and movement made by the man lying next to her keeping awake.

His smell surrounds her, and she has to bite her cheek because with each passing moment, she feels a hunger build. She wants to move, she wants to turn and put her hand on his chest, to feel the muscle beneath. She wants to open herself to him, to pull him into her arms, to allow him to touch her, to take her, to bring her oblivion. 

Carol squeezes her thighs against the ache that is burning between them. She can't take it, anymore. She doesn't care what happens, she has to do something. Her feelings for him have run from friendly, to romantic, to deep, deep love and everything in between, but she's never pushed herself on him. What's the worst he could do? It wouldn't change how much they cared about each other surely?.

She's rolls over even before she's come to any sort of decision, so it startles her when she finds herself face to face with him, and his eyes are wide open. 

"Daryl--" she starts to say, but she doesn't get further than that, because he drags her to him and crushes his lips against hers. 

Carol gasps, her mouth immediately opening for his probing tongue. She wraps her arms around him to pull him even closer, and hitches her thigh over his hip, cinching her pelvis in line with his. He's hard, and she feels the press of his erection through their clothes against the inside of her thigh. 

"Fuck," he says into her mouth, then marches kisses down her neck before latching on to the hollow at her throat to suck hard. 

Every inch of her skin prickles as she arches into him. Her overwhelming need for him makes the room spin, as if she'd drunk too much wine. She tugs his shirt up and puts her hands on his ribs, and Daryl hisses. She half expects him to push her away, but he doesn't. Instead, he returns the favor by yanking her tank up over her head and sealing his mouth over the peaked nipple of one breast. 

It's all going fast. They've been starving up 'till now and can't help but gorge themselves. She pulls his pants down and he kicks them off, and then she takes his dick into her hands, greedy for it. The tip is already weeping and she swipes the moisture over the head. 

"Jesus," Daryl says. He clutches onto her shoulders, no longer able to concentrate on anything more than what she's doing to him. 

"I want you to fuck me," she says in a hoarse whisper, surprising herself with the words. But it's true--she doesn't need gentle caresses or slow, languid love-making. She wants him to screw her brains out. 

He can only grunt in response, and so she releases him to get rid of her pants and underwear, then she guides him back between her legs. 

"I want you to feel it," he says, looking into eyes. 

"I will."

He fumbles for a second, and it confirms her suspicions that Daryl is not that experienced when it comes to this, but she doesn't care. It's not like she is, either, but this dance is older than civilization, and when he finally thrusts into her, she feels a delicious tension start to mount--it's unlike any past encounters. 

There's an intensity between them. She can't turn her eyes away from his. She encourages him to go harder, faster, and they both begin to sweat. It's not long before Daryl's face turns into a grimace, and she can sense he's close. But it doesn't matter, because she is, too. She wants him to shatter her, and she can feel the beginnings of it as she stretches to breaking point with each thrust. She reaches between them and presses against her clit, and it's just enough to make her cry out as her world flies apart. 

Daryl joins her cry when he finds his own release. She feels him pulse out inside her, warm and intimate, as she spirals back down, and then he slumps on top of her, his breathing heavy from exertion. 

They lie there for a long moment before his weight on top of her shifts from pleasant to heavy. Carol nudges him to move, and he flops onto his back with a sigh. The cool air in the room pricks at her exposed skin. 

"What was that?" she finally whispers. 

He makes a sound, and she thinks he's chuckling. "Don't know," he says. "But I ain't complaining."

She grins. "Shut up."

He surprises her by closing his hand over hers. "Maybe it was a long time coming."

"Maybe." 

"And maybe I'm done with being afraid."

She turns her head to find him looking at her, and she can see his expression, even in the darkness of the room, and it's so full of tenderness it makes her heart ache. "Yeah. Me too."

"And maybe we ain't ashes." He touches the side of her cheek with his knuckles, and she leans into it. No, not yet, she thinks, and that's good enough for her.


End file.
